Death Note the Relight
by whisperofyourheart
Summary: AU involving the character of Beyond Birthday from "Death Note Another Note". Events play out at the Yellow Box according to canon. Ryuk, on a whim, decides to stay in the human world for a bit longer and travel around, while waiting for Light's life to end. Contains shounen-ai. Carry on...
1. Chapter 1

"_Light-kun!"_

Everyone swivelled around to stare at Light's retreating silhouette as he flung open the door of the warehouse, disappearing around the corner. The police members gasped.

"Light-kun! Hold it!" Aizawa shouted.

All the members of the Japanese taskforce made for the door, intending to chase after Light, when they were stopped by a quiet yet firm voice that was startingly in its sureness.

"Mr. Aizawa. He shouldn't have any more hidden notes," Near informed them from his crouch on the floor, surrounded by his dispersed figurines. Gray eyes peered up from a layer of silver hair to regard them intelligently. Near continued, "And he can't get far with those wounds… If we leave him alone, his movements will stop."

There was a pause, before Aizawa said just as determinedly, "Near, I won't follow your instructions."

Near looked up with mild surprise evident on his face, before he bowed his head in assent. "I understand. I'll leave him to you."

The Japanese taskforce members immediately ran. Matsuda was shaking as he ran in the wake of Mogi, Ide, and Aizawa. All he could think about was _I shot him. I shot Light. I almost killed him. I would have killed him. I wanted to kill him. _

They'd been running for nearly an hour when Aizawa stopped abruptly. He turned to face his colleagues. "Has anyone spotted Light at all?"

The other members mutely shook their heads, keeping their faces grim and passive but all feeling secretly distressed. Light had had multiple gun wounds to his arms and chest and abdomen areas. It wasn't a question of how long he could hold running but how long he could hold breathing…

It was unclear whether the glistening tracks down the faces of the police members was sweat or tears or both. The knowledge that Light-kun was Kira after all and it was he who'd been responsible for all these deaths… Chief Yagami… Sayu's illness… all the innocent people who had defied Kira's law… the knowledge was too terrible to properly ingest. They faced each other and were only able to draw a little comfort from each others' presence.

"Let's split up," Aizawa spoke abruptly. He'd roughly wiped away at his face so that it was calm, albeit the furrow in his eyebrows and set frown. "Ide, Mogi, you two continue on ahead and look up any traces of Light-kun. Articles of clothing, blood. Especially blood, with wounds like his he probably trailed a lot. Matsuda, come with me to retrace our steps and let's look more carefully in some of the buildings we passed by. He might have taken refuge in one of them. This is no longer a chase. Like Near said, he can't have holden up any longer. He might even have passed out."

Aizawa turned to address Mogi and Ide specifically. "If you find him, don't arrest him quite yet. According to the law, because he's critically injured, we need to bring him to the hospital first to treat him. We'll gather together once one of us finds him. Go."

They dispersed. Aizawa turned with Matsuda back to the direction of the Yellow Box. Along the way, Matsuda turned hesitantly to his colleague, his heart jumping at his throat. "Aizawa-san—" and his youthful voice trembled and broke. He recalled the unadulterated rage that had filled him when he found out the truth about Light, how the desire to hurt Light had filled every particle of his being, endrenching any common sense. He would have fired that bullet straight at Light's brain had they not wrenched his arm away at the last moment. He shuddered violently.

"I know, Matsuda." Aizawa looked at Matsuda with a clear gaze. "I understand."

A moment passed, before Matsuda nodded slightly, his bowed in shame yet relief. This simple confirmation of understanding was enough. The two smiled at each other slightly before resuming their search.

Ryuk was admiring the pinks and purples of the human world's setting sun and thinking how depressing the ceaseless, perpetual dark shades of the Shinigami world were in comparison. His vermillion Shinigami eyes glowed like two rubies, glinting in the shifting rays that reflected the warm red hue.

"Light…" he mused, tapping thoughtfully at the Death Note he'd just retrieved from Near.

"Shinigami-san, I give up the rights of this Note of Death to you," Near had said respectfully. "To it's rightful place, the owner. A true god of death. May its power never corrupt the weakness of human nature ever again."

Ryuk had only grinned and swooped away. _Depends on if another Shinigami doesn't get bored again, _he'd thought, cackling slightly. Now he sat and he knew he had an obligation, a duty.

"Light, you've lost." Ryuk spoke out loud. From his perch on top of a high rise building, he had a good view of the Kanto region. He could see the figures of Matsuda and Aizawa walking and coming closer to the dilapidated building where Light was lying, writhing in pain from his wounds and attempting to catch his breath. Ryuk knew from looking at Light's lifespan that Light's time wasn't nearly done, and yet, he was steadily dying. Ryuk rose one skeletal hand to the air, pen in hand, and brought it down to his Death Note. He paused.

The truth was, Ryuk didn't want to leave the human world. He had thoroughly enjoyed his time tailing Yagami Light's ascent to become "god of the new world" and seeing humans in their many interesting manifestations. It was all entertainment for him, and such entertainment it had been! He was lucky the Death Note had landed in Yagami Light's hands—he was by far, the most interesting of the lot. Surely, even when he was jailed, there would be many more interesting developments? And Ryuk had only but seen this small part of the human world. There was the rest of the world to be explored. Plus, the apples were so juicy… and delicious…

He suddenly thought of the acrid taste of the Shinigami world apples as distinctly as if he'd just bitten into one and threw his pen down with conviction. Surely, none of the shinigamis would mind if he stayed for a bit longer? Surely he wouldn't be breaking any laws of death? Surely…

And that's when Ryuk made up his mind. He would stay and wait until Light died at the end of his lifespan. He'd gotten a taste of fun and wasn't keen on leaving so soon.

"Light," he said with a glint in his fading red eyes. "You are very lucky. See you around." And Ryuk took off, spreading his spiky wings and soon his silhouette couldn't be seen.

"Aizawa-san! Look here!"

"What? Is it Light-kun? Did you find him?"

After nearly an hour of scourging, both Matsuda and Aizawa were sweaty and swooty from sweeping the length of various warehouse buildings. Matsuda had entered the dilapidated building not thinking too much about it until he spotted the trail of dried blood leading to a wide opening in the building's side.

Aizawa came running up and followed Matsuda's gaze to the blood trails. "Most likely Light's," he murmured. They looked at each other briefly before both breaking into sprints.

The sight that met their eyes sent Aizawa into shocked silence and Matsuda into wails of despair. Light was lying on the cement stairs, barely breathing, his face a sickly shade of puce. His eyes were half closed, and hair stuck plastered to his face with blood. His suit was ruined too, half of it obscured by a hand clawing helplessly at a chest wound out of which was leaking a thin trickle of blood.

Aizawa snapped out of his despair and immediately called the ambulance. Matsuda's knees gave way and he crumpled, overcome by a terrible pressing weight of guilt and sadness. The man he saw lying defeated on the stairs wasn't Kira. It was his friend, Light, the son of the Chief he had always looked up to.

Within minutes, the paramedics had whisked Light away, leaving Aizawa on the phone to call Ide and Mogi that the search was over and Matsuda to stay in his crumpled position, tears spilling down his cheeks onto pools of dark red blood.

"Mogi-san. Yes, he was taken away by the ambulance. As for the legal procedures, we have nothing to do with them. I believe after he has recovered he will be tried by the jury and court. …Nothing else. Meet us at headquarters? Alright."

Aizawa placed a heavy and comforting hand on Matsuda's shoulders. "Matsuda. It's over. It's all over. This case is closed." But Matsuda was thinking of all the people they had lost along the way and the horrible betrayal they had all learnt of and wishing none of it had started to begin with.

"Near, shall we head back to the headquarters at the hotel?"

Near was silent in his contemplative state, as he subconsciously carressed the Mello figurine in his hands. He wasn't thinking of his victory over Kira. He was thinking of how lucky he was, that at the last minute, Mello had become strong enough to ovecome his inferiority complex and do justice for justice's sake. He'd abandoned his ambition to become number one and his jealous hatred for Near to catch Kira. He'd done all this, prepared to lose his life. He'd done all this knowing he would obtain none of the glory he so desired and he would never become L's successor. For the first time in his life, Near was perplexed. He wanted to know—why?

"Near?" Halle said softly. At the end of the day, Near was just a boy, not yet a man. Oustandingly intelligent or not, he'd been through a lot. "Would you like one of us to carry you?"

"No," Near responded automatically. "I will manage."

By the time they'd gotten to the hotel, Near's head was swimming, an unusual sensation. He saw problems as complicated knots—with patience and dedication and enough focus, he could see where the threads tangled and carefully undo them until it all made sense and there were no more lumps. But the question of _why _Mello had done so much—this wasn't a rope to be untangled. This was something entirely out of Near's domain.

They all entered the suite and the first thing Near registered was that strangely, the lights were on. His flawless memory told him they'd turned the lights off when they left. Stranger still, was when Near began to hallucinate.

Because sitting on the couch merely a couple of feet away from him was Mello.

"Mello…" he breathed. He took a stumbling step forward, filled with a tingling sensation in his body that made it impossible for him to _not _smile. His arms stretched out of their own accord—

Then the unmistakeable click of a gun.

"Drop your weapon!" Lester shouted forcefully. Near registered belatedly that Mello had a gun himself, and it was aimed straight at Near's heart. His corners of his lips curled into a smirk. His blue eyes narrowed as he snapped off a piece of chocolate.

"Thought I was dead, huh?"

"Mello!" Halle was shocked and beyond hiding it. "How? When? Y-You… you're alive…" she sputtered incoherently.

Near somehow found his voice. "Everyone drop your weapons. I would be very interested in hearing how Mello is standing before us, alive, when all evidence points to to the precise opposite."

There was a tense showdown between Mello and the SPK members, neither side willing to yield first, until Gevanni reluctantly lowered his weapon. Lester followed, and Mello stowed away his gun. He turned directly to Near.

"How I'm alive huh? I suppose I owe everything to…"

And from the shadows, a man emerged. The members of the SPK couldn't suppress their gasps. No one had noticed him. As he stepped into the lighting, Near took in his appearance: a plain long sleeve T-shirt, dark wash jeans, overgrown black hair, and dark half moons that underlined intelligent and penetrating onyx eyes. Near deducted who he was in seconds, through the process of elimination. He had only ever heard this man's technologically altered voice and absorbed his words of wisdom through a computer, but there was no mistaking it.

The man walked into the centre of the room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his back hunched over. He surveyed the people in the room and a corner of his lip tugged upwards in senseless humour as he opened his mouth to speak:

"I am L."


	2. Chapter 2

Near sat in the centre of the hotel room in his usual manner, surrounded by a lego castle he was building. Anyone observing would have said he was fully immersed in the task of meticulously building the highest tower of his castle and constructing a bridge for its moor, but really, Near's mind was focused on the man sitting in the red vinyl armchair directly across from him.

L's heavily lined eyes stared fixedly at Near, his attention absorbing Near's every movement. He too was sitting in his own unconventional manner, with his knees pulled up to his chest so that only his toes dangled over the edge of the chair.

The two had been observing each other for the past hour, after Near had asked to speak to L alone. The SPK members had been too shocked to protest and Mello had simply walked away with hardened eyes, most likely to fetch more chocolate from the fridge.

Finally, L broke the silence.

"You said you wished to speak with me?"

Near did not stop his rhythmic building or let his eyes stray from anywhere other his tower. Without so much as blinking, he replied "Yes."

L continued to stare unwaveringly. "About?"

"I am still in the process of organizing my thoughts so that I may make this conversation as concise as possible. If you will, please wait."

There was a dainty selection of mini fruitcakes on a platter on a table beside L but he made no move to devour the desserts.

After nearly another hour of complete silence on L's behalf, Near had made substantial progress with his bridge and turret tower. The turret was uncannily intricate considering it was made out of legos; smaller pieces building upon larger pieces gave the impression that it was spiralling upwards. The moor bridge was a traditional arching thing that stretched halfway, clearly still under construction. Even so, it was breath taking to see—the spiraling towers, bridge, turrets, small details like the little jutting balcony under the alcove.

Near fingered a lego piece thoughtfully in his fingers, his eyes sweeping over his castle. Then he abruptly dropped the piece and it fell with a clatter. He got up, something very rare in itself, and walked over to where L was crouched on the chair.

"L. It is an honour to meet you in person."

L inclined his head slightly.

"The details of your very survival perplex me, however. Pardon me when I say this, but I am greatly troubled by the fact that you are standing in front of me, alive. In the past two hours, I have been compartmentalizing memories and have deduced that you did indeed die of a heart attack on November 5, 2004, at precisely 15 hours, 8 minutes, and 23 seconds. Through logical analysis, this was caused by an unnamed Shinigami who must have written your true name in a Death Note for reasons that are still unclear, but that ultimately benefited Kira or Yagami Light. Forensic evidence proves the body belonged to you. Or… should I say you? Are you really L, I suppose, is the question. If you are, I am expecting clarification."

The ghost of a smile was gracing L's lips. "Near, you are a worthy successor to the name of L."

A pause. "Please answer the question," Near prompted softly in a deceivingly monotonous voice. Internally, he was a frothing sea of curiosity. There was too much he did not understand.

L glanced away from the boy's line of vision. "Despite the fact that I wish to gain your trust, Near, I cannot disclose that information at the moment. I know you will be disappointed to hear this and will consequently find it hard to trust I am truly L but it is simply what it is."

Near lowered his eyes. His insides were squirming with unease but he replied steadily, "Very well, L. I hope in due time you may tell me."

"Yes, of course," L said quickly, hopping down from the chair. He was surprisingly nimble. Near had always imagined—rather, deduced from analytical thinking and educated guesses—that L would shuffle along at a slow to moderate pace. The curve of his back was also less pronounced than Near had thought it would be.

When the two returned to the living room, they found the SPK members and Mello sitting on opposite ends of the feather couch. Halle was sitting rigidly with her hands folded in her lap, lips pursed, while Gevanni and Lester both cracked their knuckles menacingly at a scowling Mello, who looked pointedly the other way as if their mere faces were a personal insult.

Near struggled with how to word himself. But before he could speak—

"Hello, everyone," L said confidently. They all turned to him. "Near and I have come to a consensus after detailed explanation. At the moment, I cannot disclose the reasons pertaining to my survival, although I will in due time. For the time being, however, I suggest we focus on the great number of cases that have been neglected in wake of the Kira case. That case is history, and I suggest everyone put it behind them."

Halle stared at Near, hiding her shock. _Is this really okay, Near?_

Near avoided her gaze. He had come to a sudden conclusion that frightened him more than he would have liked to admit.

"Life in prison. Or execution."

The Japanese Taskforce members looked at each grimly.

Matsuda spoke with a tremor in his youthful voice. "Is there any way to… to… I mean, I don't exactly want…" he gulped.

"I don't think any of us want Light to pay the death penalty," Aizawa said roughly. "After all, that's what we have been fighting all this time. We believe people deserve second chances.

No one noticed that Aizawa had dropped the honorific when saying Light's name.

They were all sitting in Light's hospital ward. Light would be undergoing surgery in just a few short hours to remove the bullet shards that had embedded into the lining of his chest. There is a 50% survival chance, the doctor had informed them previously, his eyes darting about distractedly. "Take—no, I must go", was his last piece of advice, then he'd disappeared.

There was a sudden ringing. Aizawa reached into his pocket, pulled his cell phone, and snapped it open.

"Yes. Yes. You… what?" Aizawa's shock was evident on his face. "_He's alive?_ …You think… but… will we help you? Near, I must hear your reasoning first before I decide that. Frankly, I'm shocked."

There was a long pause in which the other Taskforce members strained to listen to the conversation or else make sense of what was going on from Aizawa's facial expressions.

"Understood. Please text me the address as soon as possible." Aizawa snapped his phone shut.

"Who did Near want, Aizawa?" Mogi immediately asked.

Aizawa looked at them all, his expression unfathomable. "L… may or may not be alive."

"That is all well, L," Lester was saying briskly. "But now the question of location: where shall we relocate to? We cannot continue to stay at this hotel. Our time here has expired. How about the headquarters you used to use for the Kira case? Before you d—er, before you seemingly died."

L barely looked up to acknowledge Lester, his eyes focused on the back of Near's head. "That accomodation area holds too many defuncts and bad memories for me. I would prefer we use different headquarters that I have already settled in comfortably, following the aftermath of my supposedness death."

"Wait," Gevanni spoke tensely with a slight tremor. "We can accept your wish to maintain private about your own survival. But what about Mello?"

The silence in the room was paradoxically deafening.

"We all thought Mello was dead as well."

Mello was outraged at being talked about as if he weren't even there and opened his mouth to hotly retort before L cut across smoothly, "That too is something I cannot disclose right now. Please do not argue with me on this."

Gevanni looked like he wanted to say more but was stopped by a warning look from Near.

"So.." Halle said and then realized no one had heard her. "So," she said more loudly and everyone's heads turned to her, "Near, I suppose you will be working together with L from now on? This means that the SPK will be disbanded and Lester, Gevanni and I will no longer be employed under your name."

"No," Near said. "If you so wish, I would like for the three of you to continue working with me and whomever I may wish to create a coalition with."

"Alright," Gevanni said seriously. Halle and Lester mirrored the action.

"Alright now, hold on a second." Mello said suddenly. "What's this about Near and L? Am I not included?"

When no one replied, Mello's face twisted into a terrible scowl.

"What is this, some fucking sick joke? Without me, Kira would have won and wrecked havoc on the world with his twisted ethics!"

"Mello, because you have proved so fundamental to the Kira investigation, we will excuse you of your past crimes," a quiet voice intoned.

Mello whirled around, his eyes blazing with white fury.

"_Crimes? _Exactly what _crimes _have I committed Near?" he said, his voice shaking with barely suppressed rage.

At the same time, the SPK members all shouted in appalled unison.

"Near, this is unacceptable!

"Near, we can't just _excuse_ him-"

"Near, no! What are you thinking?"

"You are responsible for the abduction and consequent mental illness of a girl, the massacre of a multitude of now deceased SPK agents, the suicide of an American president…" came the quiet voice from among the shouting.

"Shut up!" Mello yelled. The biting edge in his voice made everyone fall silent. "You're just a coward who wont't get your hands dirty and justifies that spinelessness with good morals!"

"Alright, alright," Halle said hastily. She attempted to lay a reassuring hand on Mello's arms but he swiped it away, too swept away with anger. At the end, it always came down to this: Near, Near, Near. Near outshining him without doing anything, Near infuriating him with accusations, Near taking everything from Mello. He was sick of Near. He not only deserved to stand alone, at the top, but also to hurt Near as much as Near had hurt him.

Mello stepped forward, thought _fuck it, _and struck Near, hard, across the face.

Near's face jerked back from the blow, a large red welt immediately blossoming on his face. The hair falling in front of his eyes hid the fact that tears were welling in his eyes, mostly from the physical pain, which was a foreign feeling to Near.

The SPK members immediately surged forwards and grabbed Mello by the arms, hauling him away from Near. But the damage had been done. And Mello was going to hammer the nail in.

"This is why I'll never work with you," Mello hissed, the blue in his eyes barely recognizable, they were so dilated in his fury. "I-," and he suddenly broke, unable to speak.

Silence pervaded the room.

"I don't understand why you didn't do anything that day," he said so quietly and flatly, it took a while for everyone to register that it was Mello who had spoken. "I don't understand if you enjoy seeing me in pain or something and like trumping your superiority over me. You sadist. You fucking bastard." He spit the last word.

Mello shrugged roughly out of Halle and Gevanni's restraining hands, which had become slack in the light of Mello's sudden speech. Then he slammed out the door, causing the curtains to flutter and furniture to shake slightly. They could hear his clacking boots echo down the hallway as he left, the tempo increasing until only Near could hear with his flawless hearing Mello's barely audible footsteps break into a run.

The SPK members all looked at each other with wide and confused eyes. Then they looked towards the small boy on the floor, who looked barely old enough to be out of a mother's warm embrace.

Little did they know how internally broken Near was.

"Where is L?" Near said suddenly.

Lester started, and looked wildly about the room. Then he realized… L was…

"Gone," Gevanni breathed.

"This isn't good," Near murmured, the slightest touch of distress tinging his voice. "Lester, Gevanni, Halle, I need to speak with you three now. Nevermind Mello for now. We may contact him at our leisure and ask for his partnership then. I-," he noticed their protesting expressions, hesitated for only a moment, then adamantly continued "would very much like to work with Mello because he possess more than competent intellect and despite how our methods clash, I promise you I will not compromise my own to suit his tastes." His tone clearly stated this was not up for negotiation.

"Further than that… I would like to talk to you three about L."

"Yes!" Gevanni cried suddenly. "I would like to know more about that too. It is extremely suspicious of him to—well everything about it is suspicious!"

"Yes, I agree," Near said quietly. "Even though I never met L in person, there are many things about this L that strike me as… off. I would like to team with him and Mello on various cases while investigating this private matter on my own, with the aid of you three."

"Of course we'll help," Halle said smoothly.

"Yes, of course we will," Lester chimed in.

Near nodded. "Good. In that case, we need to contact L now. I don't know where he could have gone so we need to ask for his whereabouts under the pretense that we wish to join him. It is absolutely crucial that we stay near him at all times starting from now. Understood?"

While the three went off to contact L, Near walked slowly over to his lego castle. He reached blindly about the floor and his fingers came into contact with a smooth piece. It was his Mello figurine. He studied the figurine's victorious smile and painted blonde hair. He planned on putting the Mello figurine on his moor bridge once it was complete, at the vertex of the arch.

Slowly, his fingers came to his face where Mello had touched him. They pressed gingerly at the red swollenness, probing the area where his skin had risen. Then he pressed a bit harder and winced when it hurt, letting his hand fall to his side.

"Near?" Halle suddely poked her head inside the room. "Do you want ice for your wound?"

Near shook his head. He turned away and motioned for Halle to leave.

A tear dripped down from his glittering gray eyes, then another, then another. This was the ultimate sin—letting his emotions surface and break.

It was the first time in 10 years since Near had orphaned himself that he cried.


	3. Chapter 3

Kanto Regional General Hospital, Room 1312— The walls were a light green color, the paint faded and peeling away. To the north of the room was a large bay window with white curtains held back by strings that cinched at the waist of the curtains, bunching them together. The ceiling was patterned tiles, alternating pink and green. They formed diamond shapes within squares within larger squares.

For the past 24 hours, Light had been reintroduced to the truth dose by little dose, just like the anesthetic the doctors pumped into him. One bit of numbing, horrifying truth at a time that he would take silently in his immobile body and listlessly on his blank face.

_I lost. _

_I_ was pink. _Lost_ was green. Light's eyes moved steadily over the tiles on the ceiling, rhythmically repeating the two words in his mind and coordinating them with their respective color until the meaning unhinged from the words. _Pink, green, pink, green. I, lost, I, lost. _

His eyes reached one end of the ceiling and immediately swiveled up to start again at the other end.

_Pink, green. I, lost. Pink, green. I—_

"He just woke up this morning, which proves that he is of strong health. He also has an incredible will to live. That having been said, however, we cannot determine how mentally well he is, so do be gentle and be sure to not raise your voice at any point."

Light heard the muffled voice of his personal nurse on the other side of the door but pretended not to.

"He may be sleeping, in which case you are welcome to wait until he awakes, considering you do nothing to disturb him."

The door opened and Light's mother stepped in. She instantly broke her promise to stay quiet by letting out a loud cry of anguish, bursting into tears as if she had been supressing them for a long time. She let out a sob and buried her face in her hands. "Light… Light…" The name was incoherent from the choking noises in her throat.

"Miss, please…" The nurse attempted to silence her in a quiet, reasonable voice but she continued crying, clearly overcome by waves of sadness.

Light lay in his bed stiffly, completely motionless lest the darting of eyes back and forth as he continued his obsessive mantra. He didn't bother closing his eyes. Nor did he bother acknowleding his mother's presence.

Eventually, the nurse guided Light's weeping mother gently outside, closing the door shut behind her with a click.

At the same time as the door closed shut, Light's eyes stilled, and closed.

The instant Light's breathing became sedative and regular, a hand reached out from under his bed. It was a spidery hand with long elegant fingers, the veins jutting out visibly from under tightly stretched alabaster skin. Another hand, identical, reached out, and a head with a shock of black hair popped out, followed by a torso.

The man under Light's bed crawled out soundlessly, his deep set onyx eyes sweeping his surroundings. His eyes went to the barred window, half dead plant in the corner, and finally rested on the door that had just been shut.

He couldn't leave from there, it had been locked and set with alarms, as had all the doors belonging to hospitalized criminals and ex-convicts. A jump from a window so high up wouldn't be possible either.

He stood up and dusted off his dark blue jeans. His eyes gravitated towards Light's sleeping form. The man took a few steps until he was standing directly over top of Light. One pale hand pushed back Light's slightly damp bangs while the other strayed to the heart monitor. A slender finger rested lightly on the plug.

The ghost of a smile graced his ethereal features.

"_Sayonara, _Light-kun."

* * *

L's new headquarters were not so much bare and dark as they were perfumed with an overwhelming smell. Near took care not to show his surprise on his face as he analyzed the smell. It was a mix of something fruity and processed. It also smelled nauseatingly sweet.

He was not successful, however, in entirely hiding his reaction and upon smelling the stench, stopped right in his tracks, causing Mello, who had been walking behind him, to run right into him.

Near stumbled forwards and would have fallen had Lester not caught him at the last minute. He could see out of his peripheral vision Mello's black boots walk right past him, his black fur trimmed coat swishing behind.

Near's stomach clenched but he ignored this as he gently stepped out of Lester's grip and brushed down his faded blue pajama pants.

"I hope you don't mind the dim lighting," L said from a distance. He'd suddenly switched to English. After all these years of conversing in a multitude of languages, his British accent had faded apparently, but this was understandable for a polyglot. "The light provided by these computers, however, will suffice plenty."

The room Near was standing in and struggling to see properly suddenly flooded with light as bluish glows emanated from the computers surrounding them. Near's eyes swept over the highly advanced technology, modern British furniture, and clean swept floors.

"The case I'm currently working on is the series of thefts that have been centered around the Hokkaido region—specifically, the city of Sapporo. My conclusions are drawing to a close—Near, Mello, as my rightful successors, I will let you take the reins on ending this case."

A series of thefts? A mediocre crime case that could have been taken care of easily by the Japanese police. Near thought…

"L, is there something about this case that particularly interested you?" Near spoke in English as well. He thought he knew why L had switched languages.

L's back was to them; they did not see this facial expression as he paused before continuing, "No, Near. I see myself as an ally of justice whose duty is to stop crime."

Near was quiet in his contemplation. His entire countenace was clouded. "If you will please excuse me… I must use the restroom."

Without turning around, L said "Down the hall to your left. The sink is rather faulty at the moment; my apologies."

Near slinked away. He did not have to use the restroom, obviously. He wasn't sure where he was going but he needed to get a grip on his new surroundings. Maybe the faulty sink would be worth investigating.

Near took his time down a flight of carpeted stairs. There was no lighting save some pale light filtering through an opaque window so that the only thing visible was his own looming shadow. Near stopped at the end of the stairs, resting a hand against the wall, and his shadow mirrored the action so that they touched. He could see a door up ahead, left slightly ajar, a bluish glow seeping through the crack.

Frowning slightly, Near went up to the door and hesitated only slightly before pushing it open soundlessly and letting himself in.

He was in Mello's room.

He could tell from the strewn chocolate wrappers littering the floor, not to mention the rich scent of fine dark chocolate that pervaded the room. His eyes immediately zeroed in on Mello's cluttered desk, piled with haphazardly dispersed documents and a single laptop, tiny japanese characters sprinting across the screen.

Near walked over to the desk and scanned what he could see of the documents. He dared not touch them. A wrinkled paper in the far corner that looked as if it had been held too many times to count read, in cryptic Russian letters, _The Last Will and Testament of Mi—_before the rest was obscured by another document lying on top of it. A large manila folder lying smack in the middle surrounded by loose leaf paper had _Wammy's House – Complete Records _written on it in someone's scrawled English. There was half a page of English writing lying close by. Near could tell by the placement that it had come out of the folder and was about to be read by its owner.

Wammy's House? Near's home for most of his life. Intrigued, Near leaned across the table and read as far as he could see.

_Page 288. Alex Abernathy (November (24-29?) 1986 – April 13, 1999). Height… weight… blood type… _Near went down the list of tedious statistics, assessing that for the time being, it was trivial information but on the off chance that it came handy in the future, memorized it. Then he reached the bottom of the half page and saw something interesting.

_Cause of death: Suicide. _

_Details: Encountered armed rapist, who fired weapon. Died on impact from bullet. Location: Outskirts of London, near Winchester, England. _

Naer's fingers, which had been twirling a lock of silvery white hair, fell limply to his side and stilled. The intelligence of this Alex Abernathy was startingly. His suicide had obviously been planned and designed for the purpose of making it look like a tragic accident and have no one figure out that it was—a suicide. That much was deliberate and it should have fooled anybody who didn't know the details. So what were the details? Had Alex Abernathy provoked the rapist into doing it? Paid the criminal to do it and make it seem like he was the antagonist? Then, only someone who possessed superior intelligence and a deep understanding of Alex Abernathy's personality and life would be able to deduct, from this seemingly innocent accident, that this was a carefully crafted suicide. But… who…?

Near's eyes gravitated towards Mello's laptop andwalked closer, squinting slightly at the top of the screen to read the words on it.

"—_I try, the more bored I'll get and the lazier the writing will be. To put it in terms Holden Caufield (one of history's most famous literary bullshitters) might use, detailing what Beyond Birthday—"_

Near stopped reading suddenly, his spine tingling all over. He felt a terrible coldness wash down his body. He forced himself to turn around slowly.

He met L's unsmiling face merely inches away from his own.

Near took an inadvertent step back, his heart knocking. "I apologize, I was wrong to intrude on Mello's room and invade his privacy without his or your permission."

"That is not my concern." L said simply. "Follow me."

Near's eyes darted around the room as he followed L. Then he noticed a square washed photograph lying at the edge of Mello's bed.

Near gasped quietly and ran across, taking it waveringly in two hands. He studied it, noting that the colors had faded away but the yellow of Mello's hair and the blue of his eyes were still as vibrant as they'd always been. Only the sharp edges of Mello's victorious smile expression was faded, leaving him with a faded smile, a milder expression that looked almost human… Without the hardened eyes and twisted smirk, Mello was a beautiful 15 year old boy.

No… even with the pained and manipulative expressions, Mello was still beautiful…

Near turned the photo around with lowered eyes and traced his own slanted cursive: _Dear Mello. _The black ink had smudged slightly. Where had Mello gone with this photo? It was typical of him to believe he could protect it better than anything else could.

"Near?"

Near set the photo down. "Yes, I'm coming."

L led Near up a couple of flights of stairs to a surpringly brightly lit place. Near blinked at the white fluorescence a couple of times before he registered: they were in the kitchen.

L walked over to the counter and started pouring hot water into two porcelain cups. "Near, do you have a preference for either Earl Grey or Chai?"

"No," Near murmured absentmindedly.

"Milk? Sugar?"

"If you please…"

L set two cups of steaming tea on the table, as well as a small pitcher of milk and a tin box filled with sugar cubes.

Neither of them touched their cups.

L regarded Near with those fathomless black eyes. "I trust you know why I am speaking in English."

"Yes, I have an idea."

"I also understand that you do not trust me, and are even looking into this matter. Most likely with the three agents employed under your name."

Near cocked his head slightly. Was L guilt-tripping him?

"Incidentally, I'd like you to do me a favor. Listen to this story: A man murders three people out of malice. He is caught, convicted of first degree murder, and sentenced to prison. He escapes. What can you deduct of this man, thus far, Near?"

"He possesses a high calibre of intelligence. He is childish. The fact that committed three murders, all out of malice, shows a lack of remorse. In conclusion, he is a socipath."

"Another story," L said immediately, speaking the moment Near had closed his mouth. He seemed to be rather worked up. "A man deliberately kills three people moments before their death. He is caught, convicted of first degree murder, and sentenced to prison. He escapes. Near?"

"He possesses a high calibre of intelligence. His killings were out of either unbridled altruism or self interest. Most likely the latter, because no human being is capable of the former. As such, he is childish. He wishes to win at his own make believe game."

L's eyes flashed momentarily, but said nothing.

Near picked up his porcelain cup and raised it up his lips, letting them touch the hot tea, but did not ingest any of it. Then he placed it back down. "How have I done you a favor?"

"You have validated my purpose. What can you tell me about the ethics involved in entering somone's room without their permission, and going as far as reading their confidential documents?"

"I will not be presumptuous enough to credit myself knowledgeable on the subject. But I cannot say differently of you, L." Near spoke in his usual monotone, but there was a layer of ice beneath it and his lips had tightened at the corners.

L's eyebrow quirked upwards. His eyes flashed briefly upwards, to the space right above Near's head. It happened so quickly, like L didn't want Near to notice. But Near noticed. His eyes widened and his slowly pivoted around to face the blank wall behind him. Upon finding nothing there, he turned around again, eyes round and pupils so enlargened it gave the appearance that his eyes were as black as L's.

For the first time since Near had met him face to face, L smiled. It was not so much a display of emotion as a practiced contortion of the face. Yet there was also an emotion in his eyes… was that disappointment? Fear?

Near stared back.

L made no response except to walk over to the fridge. Near took this as an indication that their conversation was over. He walked over to the door and shut it behind him carelessly, letting it unhinge a bit.

The sound of the fridge opening. A scuffling as various food items and containers and jars were shuffled around. The dull thud of the fridge shutting. Then the whisper of a grunt as someone strained to open something like a feather touch strum on a guitar from which the deepest vibrato emanated from its stomach, the gentle touching of glass on wood, the friction of metal against glass...

Near stopped, every hair on his body prickling. He could hear the droning whir of the fridge keenly and see every individual dust mite float through the air aimlessly.

Soundlessly, he walked back the couple of steps back to the kitchen. The door was still slightly ajar, just as Near had meant it to be. He peered through the crack.

L was sitting at the kitchen table, unscrewing the lid off of a jar filled with something red and glutinous looking. The glossy label on the jar read _All Natural Strawberry Jam. _Near watched unmovingly as L scooped a handful of the red stuff with his hand and ate it, then repeated, and repeated, and repeated. He took the jar in both hands and slurped straight from it. Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and turned his head slightly to where Near's gray eye was staring at him through the gap. L's mouth was twisted into that strange smile again.

Their eyes locked.

* * *

On a Saturday evening, Aizawa was at home watching TV with his daughter while his wife cooked dinner for the family.

"And there are actually a lot of guys who have asked me out, but none of them are gentlemen. They're all slobs!" Miyoku, his daughter, was laughingly saying. Her brown eyes sparkled with mirth.

Aizawa laughed genially along. Then his expression became serious. "Mimi, I do not want you getting involved with any boy until university, or high school at the very most. Understood?"

Miyoku pouted. "Daaad," she whined. "You don't have to say that… it's not like I'd go out with any of those guys…"

Aizawa smiled tenderly down at his daughter and gave her a one arm squeeze. He'd had many more nights like this where he was able to spend time with family ever since the Kira case had been closed. Though it still bothered him everytime he thought of how they'd been betrayed by Light and all the personal losses that had happened along the way, he couldn't help but feel glad that his family was still alive and well and he could enjoy their presence and love now more than ever before.

"Huh?" He felt the small vibration in his pocket that indicated he's gotten a new message. He took out his phone and flipped it open.

_One new message from Fukimura Seita. _

Fukimura Seita was the new Director of Japanese Police, installed into the position a mere 2 days after Takimura had died at the hands of Kira. Frowning, Aizawa opened the message and read it quickly.

_Aizawa-san, Just received note from KRG Hospital that Yagami Light's surgery was successful and recovery soon to be complete. As a result, please note that the UN ICJ has scheduled the first day of his trial for the 3__rd__ of March at the Peace Palace. Please also note your attendance is mandatory as the presence of every certified member of INTERPOL has been requested for the exceptionality of this case. Flight and board will be paid by the Japanese Government. Reply to let me know you have read this message. –Fukimura_

Aizawa snapped shut his phone with a grim countenance. So it was finally going to happen. Light's trial…

"Dad?" Miyoku was looking up at her father with wide, brown eyes. "Something wrong?"

Aizawa's expression cleared. He smiled down at his daughter. "No, nothing at all. Why don't we go help your mother set the table?"

I'll worry about Light's trial another time, he decided.


	4. Chapter 4

_3 months earlier. _

_A young man all in black walked into the Los Angeles Federal Penitentiary, his boots clicking on the unsweeped floors littered with smoking cigarette butts. His hardened blue eyes sweeped the perimeter of the facility, from the guards with rock like muscles standing at all corners to the plump, dark skinned woman sitting at what appeared to be the receptionist desk. _

"_Inmate visitor check in," he said in the strangest of accents, though his English pronunciation was flawless. _

_The old woman had breasts like great sacs of milk, saggy and drooping downwards. She looked up at the man with bug like eyes behind dusty spectacles, unfazed. "You gotta remove your gun before enterin' the visitors ward, sonny. Inmate ID?" She spoke in a strong Yankeys accent. _

_The young man's lips curled into a smirk, one finger probing the sleek gun hidden within the folds of his fur coat. Apparently she had a keen eye. "Prisoner number 14039372."_

_The woman typed this serial number into her computer quickly, then retrieved a large, dusty bin from under her desk and set it in front of them with a loud thud. "Gun in 'ere, sonny. All of 'em."_

_Slowly, deliberately, the young man took out his gun and placed it into the bin. Then a 2.0 BB pistol. Then a number of other gadgets and weapons. When he had finally dropped the last one, a small knife dredged in flakes of red and black with a strange series of X markings across the wooden handle, it fell with a clunk on top of all the other weapons. He grinned up at the woman and held his hands up. The markings on the knife did not go unnoticed by the woman as she carried the bin away. _

"_Mafia, eh? Where exactly have you been, son? Your momma couldn't keep you good and still s'what I'm guessin'." _

_The man's face did not betray any emotion but the woman still sensed his surprise. She chuckled. "I seen 'em all go twisty curvy, oh trust me, I seen a lot, sonny. Now give me your arm."_

_Without a word, the young man stretched out one long pale arm. The woman tied a chord around it, VISITOR in large black letters encircling it. "Mark'll take you," she said, inclining her head to one a buff guard with tattooed arms and a shaved head. _

_The young man's cold blue eyes appraised her one last time. Slowly, his hands reached to take off his fur trimmed hood, revealing a mess of golden blonde hair falling into his eyes, fair skin, and a mouth as cold and hardened as the ice in his eyes. "Thank you," he said shortly, and turned around without another word, his coat swishing behind him. _

_The woman looked pensively after him for a while. "S'shame," she mused, "he was a handsome one, that one was."_

_Some of the inmates jeered and leered at Mello as he walked in the wake of Mark. _

"_Heyyyyyy pretty boy come play with us, eh? Let's have a little fun…" They all hooted with laughter, the gasps of airs bouncing off the walls maniacally. _

_Others yelled obscenities at the top of their lungs. Still others ran to rattle the bars of their cells and stare hungrily at Mello, drinking in his appearance. Still others sat in complete oblivion to the noise and commotion, lost in their own world, their dead eyes staring at nothing. Mello glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw a young girl who couldn't have been more than 13 years of age, studiously picking at scabs on her dirty bare feet. Her fingernails were caked with blood. She looked up at Mello and his stomach contracted when he saw that her face was exquisitely pretty: porcelain blue eyes framed with dark lashes, small red lips, fair skin, long golden blonde hair that spilled over her shoulders in waves. She smiled at him and there was something feral in that smile. _

_The man Mello was visiting, prisoner __14039372, was one of the few who remained completely still, his legs crossed and back facing Mello. He spoke just when Mello had seated himself in the visitors chair. _

"_Mark here is fluent in German, French, Spanish, Italian, 20 African dialects, and English. Let's try our hand at Korean today, hm?" The prisoner spoke the Asian language easily. _

"_Fine. Whatever." Mello responded just as easily. Beside him, Mark shifted in his seat and Mello could feel him tense. _

"_Miss Latner came the day before yesterday. She murdered her mother and grandmother with intent, by running them over with a school bus. As she was being pulled in, she couldn't stop babbling about how much she'd enjoyed it—the thrill, the adrenaline rush, the power, I quote."_

_As usual, prisoner 14039372 spoke softly with the slightest hint of a Yorkshire accent in his lilting voice. Further than that, his voice was smooth; he spoke in full sentences topped with perfect grammar. It was a stark contrast to the rambling fragments and erratic inflections that characterized the other inmates' speech._

_Mello growled slightly, an eye twitching. "The fuck does that have to do with anything?"_

"_Calm your anger, Mello," the man said. Mello thought he detected amusement behind the prisoner's controlled voice, which only served to anger him further. He clenched his fingers into fists. "I only thought you would be curious."_

_He was right, as usual. His ability to detect emotions was as uncanny as his civilized speech. Prisoner 14039372 was miles more devious than the other inmates, a whole level above them in terms of intelligence. But that just made his crimes that much more macabre. _

"_Feel free to stop bullshitting me anytime, Backup," Mello said, his face twisted with annoyance. "I just came to confirm tonight's agenda."_

"_Please do not call me that," the prisoner said, his voice even. "Regarding tonight, you would do well to remember exactly what number of firearms we need and that we will communicate in tuscarora. But if everything goes according to plan, that should be unnecessary."_

"_Right." _

_The sudden ringing of a bell caused all the prisoners to suddenly strip, unbuttoning their gray flannel shirts and shaking off their grey pants. Likewise, prisoner 14039372 unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to the side. Mello's eyes widened. On his back was puckered and scarred skin, not unlike the skin on Mello's own scarred face. _

"_When you tried to kill yourself, eh?" Mello sneered. _

_The prisoner did not respond except to take off his pants. Mark the guard opened the door to his cell and stepped in, muttering _shower time.

"_Hey!" Mello shouted, enraged. "D'you hear what I said?"_

_The prisoner stood up. Then Mello saw, with satisfaction, that he was trembling slightly. "I did. I will be very apprehensive if you continue mocking me, Mello," he said, and his voice was quieter than usual. Mello couldn't help the smirk spreading across his face. _

"_See you later," he called over his shoulder condescendingly as he walked away, his boots clicking. Miss Latner, the girl who had murdered her family for fun, stared at Mello with her deranged smile as he walked by, her blonde hair covering her barely blossoming breasts. Mello took care not to look at her again. _

_Later that night, the LA Federal Penitentiary was thrown into chaos when one of the guards was fatally stabbed. The alert sirens in the prison, all 100 of them, were ringing away while the inmates' cackling laughter echoed off the walls. The police got involved along the way as they attempted to chase the inmate who had managed to escape. _

_Prisoner 14039372 had vanished. The whole state of California's police force was on a mad manhunt. _

_Mello and Beyond Birthday hid in a dark alley in downtown Los Angeles. Mello's hands were covered in blood, his blond hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Beyond Birthday slid down from Mello's back and peeled off the 14039372 sticker on his left sleeve, ripping it into shreds before scattering the pieces. He looked over at Mello. _

"_Dammit!" Mello said through labored breaths. "They almost got us!" He gritted his teeth and snarled at Beyond. "You didn't tell me I'd have to carry you, dammit why!"_

"_Apologies," Beyond said, his expression blank. "Please be silent, they are still looking for us and our current location is not ideal."_

_Mello tossed him a look of disdain but quieted his labored breathing. After a while of relative silence, Beyond said suddenly, "You refused to kill him." _

_Mello started, his eyes widening. Then they narrowed maliciously. "There's a difference between you and me," Mello said tersely. _

"_You don't seem like the type to factor ethics in decision making," Beyond said. "But then again…" his dark orbs travelled down to where Mello's rosary was hanging around his neck, the wooden cross set against a background of black leather. _

_Mello noticed where his eyes were looking and suddenly clutched at the beads protectively, his eyes flashing. _

"_Let's look here!" a nearby voice suddenly shouted. A flashlight shone at the garbage can next to Mello. _

_Within half a second, Mello had whispered "tactic of diversion" to Beyond, and stepped out with his gun at the police officer. _

_After a loud scuffle in which many police officers were grievously wounded, Mello found himself carrying Beyond once again and running like a madman. _

"_If you don't stop, we'll be forced to shoot!" _

"_Stop now! Surrender!"_

_Mello kept going, gritting his teeth. He skidded into a dark alley and found the opening to a sewer. This'll have to do for now, he thought. He was just about to pry open the lid when he felt Beyond jump off his back and run the opposite direction—straight to where the police were. _

"_Hey!" he shouted, his heart contracting with fear. What the hell was he thinking? He was going to give them away… the bastard. Mello never should've trusted him. _

_He contemplated abandoning Beyond but then remembered his purpose and, against his will, ran after Beyond. He skidded to a stop and hid in the shadows of a building—what he saw shocked him. _

_Beyond was standing in the centre of a large circle of officers, all with their guns pointed at him. His hands were up. Mello caught a look at his expression and suddenly saw the murderer in him. His smile was far too wide, demented, his eyes hollowed and hungry looking. He looked ready to kill. _

_Mello was surprised the officers did not retreat in fear. That look was a hundred times more dangerous than any gun or weapon. _

"_Give me L!" Beyond suddenly shouted gleefully. "I want L! L, show yourself!"_

_When nothing happened, Beyond's smile slid off his face. "L!" he shouted, his eyes bugging out. "Here I am! Take me back to prison, that's what you want right? To show dear Wammy you'll always be number 1? Then defeat me! Come out, L! It won't mean anything if I die by anyone else's hands." He licked his lips, his face haggard. _

_More silence. _

"_I want," Beyond continued, his eyes gleaming, "to be killed by you, L." _

_He's mental, Mello thought. He finally fell off the cliff of insanity. There's no way L would be in—_

_Mello muffled his gasp. _

_L was pushing past two police officers and walking right up to Beyond. Mello had never laid eyes on L, only ever heard his technologically altered voice through a computer, yet he knew this was L. He just knew. _

_The physical similarties were striking. But while L's onyx eyes was grave and solemn, Beyond's were lifted with some sort of twisted euphoria. _

"_L," Beyond said, almost purring the word. He stepped closer and carressed L's face, his demented grin growing. "I have two weapons of destruction with me. Which would you prefer to end my life with? It can be done quickly and cleanly with a bullet through my brain or…" Beyond lifted one finger and tugged on L's lips. His other hand cupped L's chin. "You could see my blood come gushing forth, staining your fingers, and pull out my steaming guts and…" Beyond suddenly threw his head back and laughed hysterically, his wailing, breathy laughs sending Mello's heart into the pit of his stomach. _

"_Maybe," Beyond said with a feral glint in his eyes, "should I take your's, L?" He grinned victoriously and Mello barely registered L suddenly slump the ground, a knife deeply embedded into his stomach. _

"_Fire!" _

_A loud bang and Beyond was on the floor. Mello thought he was dead but then he slowly got up and grinned derangedly at the officer. "Missed me."_

"_Stop!" a voice suddenly ordered. "Don't open fire. You might hit Ryuzaki." _

_Beyond's face became gleeful, for some reason at that. He picked up L's limp body and shook him. "Ryuzaki? For me? L, you shouldn't have." _

"_Charge!"_

_Mello blinked and the police officers who had been encircling Beyond were in a huge scuffle, and next thing Mello knew, his sleeve was being tugged by Beyond whose expression was blank. "Let's go," he said. _

_They were trudging through the sludge in the sewer tank underneath the city when Mello's emotions got the better of him. That was the one thing he always failed at—suppressing his emotions. It was the one thing that kept him inferior to Near. _

"_You sick bastard," he snarled, taking Beyond by his shirt front and slamming him against the brick wall. He heard a sickening crack that barely satisfied his ravaging anger. _

"_Now, now," Beyond said, his ghostly smile not reaching his eyes. "What was L to you, anyways?" _

_Mello slammed him against the wall again, wanting to see pain on that blank face. "You were going to kill him, weren't you?"_

_Beyond Birthday did not show any pain whatsoever, but only laughed a wheezy sort of laugh as a stream of blood trickled down his cheek from his hair. "I think I did."_

_Mello snarled viciously, taking his gun and clicking it in place at Beyond's brain. "I ought to kill you for your impudence," he said quietly. _

_Beyond Birthday seemed to find Mello's palpable rage amusing. "You won't shoot."_

_Mello tightened his grip on the trigger. His finger itched to pull it. "And why not?" _

"_You're… weak."_

_The blood rushed into his head, a roaring sound that filled every particle of his being. _I'm better than Near. _The sound of gunfire shattered Mello's eardrums, followed by a guttural scream. His own? _

_Beyond Birthday was laughing demonically. He clutched at his lower arm, which had just been blasted. It was drenched with blood. "Not bad, not bad at all. But your aim was off. My heart happens to be located—"_

"_Save it," Mello said, his throat constricted, his eyes inexplicably watering. "Just shut up until we get to the place, okay? Shut up before I blast your brains out next time." _

_Later on, it occurred to Mello that Beyond Birthday, who could have defended himself with his own firearms, had let him shoot. More than that—he had willed Mello to pull the trigger. He had wanted him be overcome by his raw anger and hatred. He had let himself be flooded by searing pain because he enjoyed it, he loved it, and he was sharing this darkness with Mello. He wanted Mello to succumb to this dark pleasure. He had wanted Mello to take his life, and become as much of a killer as Beyond Birthday was. _

* * *

Present Day

Near woke up alone in the tech room, shrouded in darkness. _Someone turned off the computers…? _

The doors swished open and L walked in in his usual attire, carrying a mug of something steaming. "Near. Good morning."

"L," Near said, slowly sitting up in his crouched position, with one knee pulled up and the other leg sprawled. "Did someone turn off the power?"

L raised the mug to his lips but did not drink from it, Near noticed. "Yes, I did. Our budget is slightly tight at the moment, so I thought it would not do any harm while everyone was sleeping."

"Our budget is tight?"

L glanced at Near. "I do not mean to put you on the spot, but to be blunt, I'm referring to the time you used my inheritance to escape from Kira around 4 months ago."

Near opened his mouth confusedly. "But—"

"Hmm?"

Near halted his speech and became silent. "Yes… I understand."

L turned away and turned on the tech room, blue florescence suddenly glaring into Near's eyes. He squinted. Yes… he understood. L's inheritance wasn't monetary aid that equipped them with the necessary technology and tools. It was a substantial financial bursary from the Wammy's House. Near's little expedition hadn't cost them anything. And financially, they were stable. Yes… L was hiding something. Doing something that required utter darkness during the night.

_A hint. _

And yet... that was exactly it. Near had figured it out too quickly. Was he being lured into something? L did not underestimate his intelligence and had all but blatantly told him to wander around at night. However—

Near would find out what it was.

Mere minutes later, Mello walked in, dressed in his usual black leather garb. He sat down rather heavily at one of the swivel chairs and immediately began typing into the computer. Near quietly gathered a deck of cards to his side and began to lay out the foundations of a pyramid. He opened his mouth to speak but—

"I was doing research last night on my prime 3 suspects and they all have histories of abnormal behavior, even though the information has been meticulously cleaned from medical reports and such," Mello said, his voice still husky from sleep.

Near was startled. Mello was speaking to him for the first time.

"I also asked your agents to do some digging and if their reports are accurate, the suspects have shown homicidal tendencies that have been overlooked by people in their surroundings."

Mello swivelled around in his chair to look at Near directly, his eyes grim and his voice brusque.

"Miyako Tsukishima, Kaneki Kenta, Ayato Rize… aged 13, 12, 14 respectively. These middle school children attending Yokohama Junior High are the ones committing the string of murders that have been happening this past month. I'm certain of this."

Near contemplated this hypothesis quietly, weighing the possibilities and ratios. Finally, he said "This is a huge jump in logic, Mello. You've made many assumptions."

The corners of Mello's lips tightened. "They're well informed assumptions." A beat, and he smirked wrly. "Sometimes you have to go by your intuition."

"Indeed," a voice said distantly. L walked back in, continuing, "I often have to proceed with only the assurance of my well honed instincts, if you will. And now, Mello, because I agree with you, how should we convict these 3 children?"

Silence.

"I think," L said, one finger tugging on his lip thoughtfully, "because these children have financial subsidies in the form of their image obsessed and unbelievably affluent caretakers, we need to bend the law a little bit… just the slightest. If we go about it honorably and respectably, we will struggle, and we will lose the struggle ultimately."

"You mean abducting them?" Mello said harshly.

Near had abandoned his card pyramid. His eyes were trained on the floor in order to not betray the fear he felt. L… _never _would use such tactics. Hadn't Near himself once refused to kill Kira because it would be meaningless, as L's successor?

_This man… is not L._

* * *

**_A/N_**

er… hello all. This is my very very first author's note… teehee :3 ahem, anyways, I just wanted to say that… well, can you guess it? … yes you guessed it: PLEASE REVIEW (: feedback on my writing, what you like/dislike about the story, ideas for future plot development, flames, trolls, they would all be appreciated ! and… erm, yes, that's it. Uhm, sincere apologies for my slow updates, and, ah, I get writer's block quite often, it's actually a long sad story with a lot of twisted psychology… uh, why am I saying this…? … oh dear I am quite awkward I better stop now.


	5. Chapter 5

"Aizawa-san."

Aizawa turned to see the director Fukimura approaching him with a grim countenance.

"Join me for a cup of coffee at break. I have something to discuss with you."

"Yes, sir."

Come break time, Aizawa sidled into a chair next to Fukimura, who was tapping his foot in seeming agitation. He settled into the cracked, worn leather and stirred cream into his coffee.

"What is it you wanted to discuss with me, sir?"

"Hmm," Fukimura mumbled, sipping his coffee. His face was terse when he spoke. "Since the passing of Chief Yagami Soichiro, we have been lacking a chief of police and need to reinstate someone into the position. Aizawa-san, I cannot think of anyone more qualified than you. Would you be willing to take on this responsibility?"

Aizawa was honoured but knew this was not a matter he had a say in. Hence, "Yes, sir."

Fukimura went on without a beat. "Good. Now you know that the ICJ doesn't usually deal with individual criminals, such as Kira. So you must be wondering why now?"

Aizawa nodded mutely.

"It's because the American government is placing charges against the Japanese government for crimes against humanity."

Aizawa gasped and stood up at the same time, knocking his cup of coffee over. "What? The Japanese government? Are they liable for the damage Kira did? Did we not, as the Japanese police force, try our hardest and _end up losing the greatest detective in the world in the process?_"

Well, considering L was dead. There was a possibility he wasn't…

"Aizawa," Fukimura hissed. "Please, sit down. You're causing a commotion."

Indeed, the other taskforce members had fallen silent and were staring at them.

Aizawa cleared his throat gruffly. He turned to them and bowed shortly. "I apologize for the disturbance."

"Sit down," Fukimura ordered. Aizawa did so. "Now, listen, I share your sentiments. Those white idiots are bitter over Hoope's suicide, which they claim was caused by Kira and all that business. Absurd, of course. However, there is nothing to do done about it. All we can do as Japanese citizens is do our share of speaking up at the trial in defense of our country. The matter of Kira's future is no longer germane—right now, thanks to Kira, we are on the brink of World War III. Old Allies vs Axis sentiments have risen. All the countries have taken their old posts." Fukimura discreetly nodded in the direction of a blond officer casually reading the newspaper while sipping coffee. "You see that _gaijin_? He's from Germany. The German government have a ton of them installed all over Japan, specifically the Kanto region, afraid of a repeat of the Hiroshima-Nagasaki atomic bomb incident."

Aizawa stared in horror.

"I wouldn't be surprised if a bunch of Italians started slowly arriving. Likewise, there are Chinese soldiers being sent to America. They don't want a repeat of Pearl Habour. What they don't know is that fool Koizumi Junichiro who's suppose to be our prime minister is currently wetting his pants with fear. The last thing he wants is to actually open gunfire."

Aizawa swallowed. "W-Why… does no one know about this? How is this not buzzing in the media? How are people not talking about this?"

Fukimura regarded his darkly. "Because Koizumi is making sure this stays quiet. And when I say that, I really mean he's doing everything in his control. If you will notice, all online political forums and discussions have been blocked. Furthermore, all social media companies have…hm… well, no use sugarcoating it. They have been coerced into filtering all topics on their websites that have the slightest to do with this."

"He's censoring the internet…"

"And the newspapers and magazines," Fukimura supplied. "Of course, this is all very recent development. The rest of the world is just barely abuzz with this news. The German officer over there arrived just this morning. He was the first. There will be more."

Both men were silent for a while.

A thought occurred to Aizawa. "Then—what of Kira? Will he still be tried at the Peace Palace?"

"I think," Fukimura said, "the Federal Supreme Court of Justice released a quiet statement this morning only available to government officials that Kira is to be sentenced to death. Undoubtedly this is a statement that will reach the American government in hopes of placating them."

A terrible weight dropped into Aizawa's stomach. Light… was going to die?

"Of course, he will still be present at the ICJ trial. He will be questioned by prosecutors of the American government and of course by our Japanese defense attornies. They say he is in good mental and physical health and is fit for questioning."

Aizawa struggled to speak. Fukimura sighed aggravatingly.

"That bastard—causing us all this trouble. Damn Kira."

Aizawa felt a constricting feeling in his chest. "His _name_ is Yagami Light. The son of our past Chief." No sooner had the words come out than he regretted them.

"You better get rid of any attachment you had to that criminal at once," Fukimura ordered, his eyes bugging dangerously. "I know you once used to work together but he is Kira, the mass murderer, and that will not change. Good day, _Chief _Aizawa. Thanks for your hard work."

Fukimura left hurriedly, his cup of coffee still on the table. Aizawa stared into the dregs and saw his own miserable face reflected back, dreary brown and shifting.

Kira… Hoope's suicide… _Kira… Hoope's suicide… _

Wait, Aizawa thought. Wait a second… was Kira truly responsible for Hoope's suicide? Or was it the man who had threatened him with death lest he give him confidential information? Hoope had been a man of virtue… hadn't it been his honor and duty to his country that had caused him to take his own life? Thus… the one truly responsible for Kira's death…

Mello. The infamous Wammy's orphan who had abducted Sayu and caused Chief Yagami's death.

Aizawa's fingers unconsciously clenched into fists. There was a way to save Light.

* * *

Near approached L with trepidation.

"L, I wish to speak to you about the Tokyo Serial Murder Case."

L stopped typing away at his computer to indicate he was listening.

Near continued, "Regarding how we will apprehend the suspects. I must convey my unease at using our current plan."

"What would you suggest, Near?"

Near opened his mouth to speak when the phone rang. He paused and watched Lester answer it. After a few moments, he walked over and handed the phone to Near.

"It's Chief Aizawa from the Japanese Taskforce. He has to tell you something regarding Kira's trial."

Near frowned. He, Mello, and L were no longer responsible for Kira. Nevertheless—

"Chief Aizawa. What is this about Kira's trial?"

When Aizawa spoke, his voice was brusque and full of static. "The Americans are pressing charges against our government because of Light's entanglement with David Hoope's suicide. Light is going to receive the death penalty. My problem with this is that Light wasn't actually the one to cause Hoope's death."

Near's stomach felt icy cold. "What are you implying?"

"That if anyone is to be held liable, it is your colleague Mello. He was the one who set the ultimatum on the president! Also, did he not at one point kill all the SPK members, save your 3 anonymous agents? At the very least, I cannot forgive him for our Chief Yagami's death. Near, will you help me reinstate justice and apprehend Mello?"

Near was silent. His heart was threatening to leap out of his throat and he thought this must be something akin to panic.

"Near," Aizawa said, his voice more desperate. "I have known Yagami Light since he was a child, when I first started working for the taskforce. I know he has committed abominable crimes, but it was truly the death note that corrupted him. I cannot stand here and watch him pay for his crimes with his life. I cannot stand here and watch him be a pawn in the game of global politics."

When Near was still silent, Aizawa yelled, "What does Mello mean to you? Don't you hate him? Near!"

Wordlessly, Near gestured to Lester. Lester immediately understood and took the phone away. "Hello, Chief Aizawa. Yes, if you wish to talk further on this matter with Near, please come to headquarters. You must be in disguise… I will send you further information through text." He hung up.

Near could hear the last two statements ringing in his ears. What _does _Mello mean to him? Did Near hate Mello?

No… impossible. Ever since he'd been orphaned, all Near had felt was a nonchalance towards the fate of the universe. But Mello's presence made him not only aware of the vast cosmic galaxy, but also actually have faith in the Heaven Mello believed in. Against all intellect and logic and scientific reasoning, Near remembered, back when they'd been children at the Wammy's House, peering inconspicuously through a crack in Mello's bedroom door and watching him kneel by his window in silent, reverent prayer, his lips mouthing words silently, his long eyelashes sweeping across his face while both small hands grasped the wooden cross hanging around his neck and believing in the God Mello was praying to with all his heart. In those ethereal moments of evangelical zeal, Near remembered seeing no trace of the scowl that usually hung on his face; there was only calm and peace and the faintest of smiles and Near remembered having the peculiar sensation that the smile was reflected on his own face. There was the occasional tears and pained expressions and Near remembered feeling still indifferent about the fate of the universe but inexplicably caring about the fate of this one person.

Of course he didn't hate Mello… how could he? How could he, when Mello was the one person who let Near keep hold of his humanity and, even if for just a foolish moment, believe in something greater than this world of sham and drudgery?

"Near."

Near looked up to see said Mello looking down at him from a formidable stance, his face dark.

"I heard my name mentioned in the phone conversation with the police officer. What's going on?"

"You'll see soon—"

And Aizawa suddenly burst through the door, his eyes steely. He walked straight towards Near but stopped in his tracks upon viewing Mello.

Near felt the the muscles in Mello's arms contract with tension. As far as reading emotions, Mello was far more empathetic than Near. He must have sensed an impending doom.

"Near, have you considered my proposal?" Aizawa said, his voice strained.

Near forced himself to take his time in constructing a card pyramid. After twirling a tendril of hair thoughtfully until even he could feel the palpable tension in the room grow, he said in his usual quiet manner, "It seems to me as if you are letting your personal affections for Kira get the better of you, Aizawa-san, and consequently are turning this into a blame game. I, personally, am in no place to question the legal assertions of the American government. I also look forward to the demise of Kira, as should you, Aizawa-san. You are an upholder of jus—"

"Near," Aizawa said, his voice and fists shaking. "Even if I am, why are you obstinate against helping me? Is it that hard to give up Mello?"

"Me?" Mello's sharp voice intoned. "What's this about?"

"It is, indeed," Near mused, more to himself than anyone. "Aizawa-san, I am an upholder of justice. The last time I remembered, we were never friends, and so I do not see it as my duty to help you in this regard. For me, justice comes above everything. Kindly leave me company now."

"I will not leave before you tell me why you won't apprehend Mello!"

Shocked silence.

Mello finally broke the ice. "Excuse me? Apprehend me? What the fuck is going on?"

Aizawa turned to Mello squarely, though his heart feared Mello slightly. "It is you who should be serving the death penalty on the Japanese government's behalf, not Light! Light-kun was not responsible for Hoope's—"

He hadn't finished the sentence when he was being violently pushed against the wall, Mello's hand curled around his throat.

"Say that again," Mello growled, "and I'll cut your throat open. You've got something going up your ass if you think I'm going to take shit for what that bastard did—"

Mello went stumbling as Aizawa landed a punch to his face.

"Yagami Light is not a bastard," he shouted. "He was manipulated—controlled—"

"By _what?_ The death note?" Mello said through a bloody nose from his sprawl on the floor. He sneered at Aizawa. "He was a fool who only exceeded in another reign of terror." Mello got up, wiping the blood on his face with an arm. He glowered at Aizawa. "And now you want to put the blame on me. _Tough luck."_

Aizawa glared, his fingers resting gingerly on the gun secured by his belt.

"Enough," Near said. "Both of you, stop with this acrimony."

"Near, shut up!" Mello yelled. "I'm the one being apprehended her and you're telling to stop defending myself—"

"Mello, I was merely—"

"Just stay out of this!"

Near got up and put a small hand on Mello's sleeve. "Please," he whispered. He could feel the wiry muscles tighten and tremble under the scaly leather fabric.

"Aizawa-san," Near said, his voice lower. "I will discuss this with you another time. Please leave."

Aizawa continued to glare at Mello.

"_Now._"

As Aizawa finally left rather huffily, slamming out the door, Mello said in a quiet voice after him, "Go rot in hell." He shook off Near and stalked back to his workplace.

Near quietly shuffled after him. "Mello," he started.

"You don't need to say it," Mello cut across brusquely. His lengthy blond hair was obscuring the half of his face so that Near couldn't see his expression. "I know you'll agree with Aizawa that I should die. And you two will try to arrest me on those charges. Then you will have won. You'll really be number one. That's _fine_. I won't _let _you. I'm better than you, Near, and you know it too."

"I agree."

"What?"

"I am inferior," Near said. "I may be intelligent, but my inability to understand the monster I am prevents me from being wise."

Mello stilled, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He was silent for a long time. Then he lifted up his head so that Near could see his bright blue eye. He said, slowly, contemplatingly, "There are many types of monsters in this world."

"Monsters who will not show themselves and cause trouble," Near intoned.

"Monsters who abduct children…"

"Monsters who devour dreams." Near had mulled over this speech so many times long ago that it was second nature to him.

"Monsters… who suck blood…" Mello said haltingly. He'd turned to face Near and as they were mere inches apart, Near could see the cuts and vein ligaments running along Mello's scar, defining his jaw and snaking down his neck and collarbone.

A deep, grave voice from the other end of the room concluded the soliloquy. "And monsters who always tell lies."

Near pinched at a tendril of hair. L emerged from the darkness and walked towards them in his hunched manner, his lips twisted in that inexplicably eerie smile yet again. The three of them stood silently, the shadows of three monsters staring back at them.

* * *

"Halle," Near spoke later that night. He was sitting amidst a halo of flourescent blue, having been unable to fall asleep earlier. It must have been early morning—around 2 or 3 am.

"Yes?"

"I require a full version of the _Wammy's House – Complete Records _document. Please forward it to me when you retrieve it. I need it as soon as possible."

"Yes."

Near was thinking about L's speech. The lying monster… had been Kira. In the end, L was defeated by the very thing that made him so untouchable. He could never understand that coldness had replaced his heart, nor the fire that fuelled people to care about humanity's fate. Thus, he could never understand Kira, who was as much a monster as he.

Each "monster" referred to a potential successor, Near was sure of this. He was the silent troublemaker who did nothing to wreak havoc but also complacently watched a victim being brutally beaten in front of him. Mello was the abductor of children… how true that prediction had come. Matt, apathetic, lazy, sluggish Matt who cared only of a world made up of pixels, was the devourer of dreams. But who was the monster who sucked blood? Near didn't know. And that bothered him greatly.

"Near," Halle spoke suddenly. "There are no traces of the document you require." She sounded troubled.

Near nodded. He'd expected this. "Indeed. That is because they are currently under Mello's possession." Near paused only a second before resuming, "We will have to take them from him. And… he cannot know about it."

Halle looked at Near steadily. "Very well."


End file.
